


Breathe For Me

by son_of_a_bitch_spn_family



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically, Claustrophic Setting, Dean goes in that metal coffin, Graphic Depictions of Suffocation, M/M, Panic Attacks, The Kiss of Life, and Cas decides to go with him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 06:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17802761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family/pseuds/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family
Summary: Dean took a deep breath, looking up at the sky for the last time, eyes bleary from traitorous tears. But hey, he was about to be dropped to the bottom of the ocean, he was allowed to fucking cry.Here it was - the worst moment of his life.Except.





	Breathe For Me

**Author's Note:**

> This would NOT leave me alone, no matter how much I begged it to. In other words, Dean and Cas face eternity alone together - what could possibly go wrong with that?

What Dean expected to be one of the worst moments of his life was severed very abruptly. 

 

Sure, it was all there. Sam looked absolutely  _ crushed  _ in his corner, eyes red-rimmed, lips trembling with his shuddering breaths. The rocking of the boat made Dean sick to his stomach, like waves existed in his very frame. Cas, for his part, looked downright  _ pissed,  _ all righteous fury sparking his eyes and unfathomable energy ticking his jaw. 

 

By all means, this should have been the absolute worst moment of his life. The coffin sat ominously on the boat - an impenetrable cage big enough for two; hell, at least he wouldn't be squished for all eternity. All Dean had to do was climb in and exist. The lid was already open and waiting, beckoning to him mockingly, promising him a different hell he'd never be saved from. Suffocating, drowning,  _ again.  _

 

Dean had already given his hug to Sam, had wrapped him up and guided him in like the big brother he was. Sam had folded into him, trembling and begging with everything but his words for Dean to just  _ stay.  _ Dean had ruffled his hair, faked a grin, and stepped back to flick his gaze to Cas. 

 

Dean was pretty positive that a hug was the last thing Cas wanted at the time; his body was curved like he was taking a blunt object to his chest, and his arms were wrapped so tight around himself that his trenchcoat was pulled taut around his shoulders. Dean hadn't cared what would come of it and forced a hug on him  _ anyway,  _ because he'd known Cas would forever regret it if they didn't have one. 

 

And all that was left was the worst moment of his life. 

 

Except. 

 

“No,” Cas said simply, uncurling from himself and stomping over to the prison Dean was about to give the rest of his existence to. 

 

Dean gritted his jaw and swung one leg over, not watching Cas approach. “We talked about this, man. Don't make this harder on any of us.” 

 

“No.” Cas reached out to grab his shoulder, stopping him from lying down in the coffin. “This is one of the  _ stupidest  _ ideas you've ever had, Dean. I cannot stand by and let you do this.” 

 

“Sam,” Dean mumbled, throwing a pleading look at his brother, because he couldn't do  _ this  _ with Cas. 

 

Sam swallowed, throat bobbing, and his sigh rattled out of him, wet and heavy. “Cas, we've- we've tried everything, okay? Billie said-” 

 

“I killed her once, I can again,” Cas hissed, clenching his fingers on Dean's shoulder. “I should, simply for suggesting something so…  _ so moronic.  _ Do not think, for even a second, that my statement upon her first demise does not stand presently, Michael or no.” 

 

Dean shook Cas’ hand off his shoulder. “This is my  _ choice,  _ Cas. I'm doing this. Let it go; let  _ me  _ go.” 

 

Cas stared at him, face crumbling in the worst way. Sam was crying again, silently, but Dean could tell by how his shoulders hitched in his peripheral. Cas wasn't going to cry, Dean knew, but the way his face went completely blank was infinitely worse. 

 

All of it was too much, and Dean was literally about to lock himself in a box for all eternity _ ,  _ so he allowed himself some liberties. If he were crueler, he'd tell Sam that he loved him, that he'd miss him every second that he'd spend not breathing; he'd reach out and touch Cas, maybe mention that he was the best friend Dean was ever going to have and he'd spend forever knowing that he was cared for. Selfish as it was, Dean kind of found relief in knowing that Cas would be around to miss him, long after the world would forget him. As far as cruelty went, Dean didn't want to be in his last moments, so he took the liberty of avoiding all those moments as quickly as possible. He swung his last leg over and climbed in, lying down in his own personal hell. 

 

Dean took a deep breath, looking up at the sky for the last time, eyes bleary from traitorous tears. But hey, he was about to be dropped to the bottom of the ocean, he was allowed to fucking cry. 

 

Here it was - the worst moment of his life. 

 

_ Except.  _

 

A pointed shoe kicked Dean's ankle as Cas stepped into the coffin and glared at him. “Scoot over,” he ordered gruffly, nudging at him insistently. 

 

Dean blinked up at him. “What? Dude, what the fuck are you doing? Ouch, move your elbow, hey! Stop  _ pushing  _ me, jesus fucking- Sam!” 

 

Sam was already there, staring down at them with wide eyes. Cas was wiggling his way off his side and on his back, shifting relentlessly and forcing Dean to budge over. Dean jerked a hand at Cas, gaping at Sam, hoping to convey that he needed to be informed where things went wrong. The worst moment of his life was very quickly spiralling into the weirdest fucking disaster. 

 

“Um, Cas, what are you doing?” Sam lifted his eyebrows when Cas stared at him defiantly. 

 

“I'm joining Dean at the bottom of the ocean.” 

 

Dean jerked his head to glare at Cas. “You can't!” 

 

“It's my choice,” Cas replied smoothly, his tone lofty with the air of a man who'd just caught a grenade and tossed it back. 

 

“Cas, stop being an ass. This is the dumbest shit you've ever done.” 

 

“I'm fairly certain I understand this meaning, but correct me if in wrong; in this scenario, I'll be kettle, and you can be pot, and we-” 

 

“Oh, shut up!” Dean wished he had more space so he could gesture more emphatically. He jerked his head to stare up at Sam. “Yank him out.” 

 

“What? You want me to-” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

Sam frowned. “I'm not gonna yank him out, even if I could. I kinda understand, actually. If I could survive it, I'd crawl in there with you too.” 

 

“You cannot seriously be condoning this.” 

 

“Oh, I'm really not. I'll be losing my best friend  _ and  _ my brother, so it's actually the last thing I'd want to go through… but I can't exactly blame him, or even stop him for that matter.” 

 

“This isn't how it's supposed to go,” Dean snapped, jerking his head from side to side to glare at Sam and Cas in intervals. 

 

“You won't be alone,” Sam whispered, face going blotchy with the strain of trying not to cry again. 

 

Cas shimmied until he could lift a hand, awkwardly patting Sam's knee - the only spot he could reach comfortably. “I'm sorry,” he murmured, big blue eyes sad and soft. “You know why I'm doing this.” 

 

“I know,” Sam croaked, jerking a nod. “I don't know what I'm gonna do, but…  _ thank you.”  _

 

There was something so utterly horrific about the exchange that Dean feared he'd throw up. There was Cas, lying in wait to share Dean's death with him forever, willing to leave an easier life with Sam behind. Sam wasn't angry, he was  _ thankful,  _ like he was comforted by the thought of Dean not being alone in his suffering. There was grief exchanged there too, in the trade of their small smiles tinged with sadness reserved for only each other. 

 

Somehow, Dean felt like he was an executioner and a victim all at once. 

 

It hit Dean exactly what was going to happen then, and he whipped his head around to Cas, eyes wide with panic. “Cas, you  _ can't.  _ You have to get out, you have to look after Sam, you have to… live.” 

 

“We can do those things together,” Cas urged, staring at him hopefully. “Please, Dean.” 

 

“I want to; god, I  _ want  _ to,” Dean choked, eyes closing under the weight of his anguish. “You don't understand; you didn't see the books, you didn't read the ending, you don't know what happens if I  _ don't  _ do this. I'm choosing to do this because the alternative isn't something I can let happen.” 

 

When Cas sighed softly, Dean felt it on his cheeks; when he spoke, Dean felt the words there too. 

 

“This time, I will go with you.” 

 

Sam reached down and touched the side of Dean's face closest to Cas for a moment, lightly tapping it, eyes watery. “I'm gonna be fine, one day. I'll, uh, pray to Cas all the time, and he can let you know when I'm checking in on you guys.” He gave a very short, stunted laugh. “I'll just tell myself you guys went on a really long honeymoon without phones.” 

 

“Honeymoon?” Cas muttered, squinting. “Dean and I haven't joined in marriage, Sam.” 

 

Dean rolled his eyes but didn't break eye contact with Sam, giving a jerky nod and a soft grin. “This is so fucked up in so many ways, but if it helps, we're on a beach and there's plenty of lube.” 

 

“You had to make it weird.” Sam's laugh was more of sniffling at that point, but Dean kindly ignored it for his sake. “No chance you'll change your mind?” 

 

“No,” Dean murmured, letting his lips tremble around another fake smile. 

 

Sam shifted his gaze. “Cas?” 

 

“No,” Cas said, voice quiet and somber. 

 

“Okay.” Sam jerked a rough nod and closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. He leaned back and opened his eyes, staring at them, letting the breath go in one whoosh. “I'll pray, I promise.” 

 

And Dean knew this was goodbye, could tell by the stiffness in Sam's shoulders, how he drew into himself. He was strong, always had been, and in some ways, he had more strength than Dean. Once upon a time, he'd have been bitter at Sam's ability to keep on going, even without him, but he found himself thankful for it then. 

 

Sam rocked back up, reaching out to grab the lid of the coffin. He gazed down at them, tears gathering in his eyes, and slowly lowered the lid. Dean felt a tear hit his cheek just before the lid slammed shut. 

 

The encompassing darkness was disorienting, making them both stiffen within the confined space. It was absolutely the worst time to think about what he was about to go through, but his mind betrayed him. 

 

In all actuality, he wouldn't drown. The pressure of the ocean around the coffin wouldn't get in, not with the things he'd carved into the metal. Nothing could infiltrate the coffin, and they couldn't leave it either. 

 

No, Dean would slowly suffocate as his air supply failed to replenish. His breathing would eventually grow thin, until impossible, and his lungs would seize for eternity. He'd be on the precipice of asphyxiation forever, never to draw air in again. 

 

Dean would suffocate from circumstance and drown from Michael - suffer from every direction. 

 

Maybe he began to panic, because fingers suddenly reached out and gripped his tight. He knew his breath was incredibly loud, but he couldn't tell if his chest was rising and falling at a regular or rapid rate, not in the parameters of his new reality. But he must have been because here he was, holding hands with Cas and trying not to fucking cry. 

 

The coffin suddenly jolted around them, making them slide closer together. Dean knew the plan, knew they were being lifted by an industrial crane meant to heave sharks, knew they were being swung over the side of the boat and slowly lowered. He wondered if Sam would hesitate to let them drop. 

 

“Sam prayed to me just now,” Cas whispered, words oddly displaced in the space. “He says he loves us very much, will miss us while we're away, and he hopes we have fun making sandcastles.” 

 

Dean felt his eyes close, choked out, “Oh god.” 

 

Then, they were falling. Dean felt the drop in his gut, the feeling of being cut away and plunging down making the cold pressure of fear slide down his spine. He sucked in a sharp breath just before they collided roughly into what he knew to be the ocean. Their bodies jerked around, limbs knocking into each other, the rough tumble making them grunt, but their hands never broke apart. 

 

The movement eased, smoothing out, and he could easily picture the coffin sinking slowly. He wondered if Sam watched them sink, if he cried when they disappeared beneath the waves. 

 

Dean wasn't sure how long it would take to reach the bottom, or whether they would sink fast or slow. He just gripped Cas’ hand and tried to take short sips of air and not panic. It was incredibly hard to do, considering that each breath was numbered. Beside him, Cas went very still and very silent, so much so that Dean realized he wasn't breathing. 

 

“Cas, man, you gotta breathe,” Dean hissed, huffing in a shallow breath of warm air. 

 

Cas spoke through clenched teeth. “Actually, I don't need to breathe. Angel, remember?” 

 

And that was that. 

 

Dean knew Cas wouldn't breathe again, would save every scrap of oxygen around them for Dean, would try to stave off any of Dean's suffering in any way he could. And the thought hurt him in so many ways, knowing Cas would do that. Even when he'd spoke, he'd done so without breathing. 

 

Dean took in small breaths and hoped it wouldn't be his last, waiting for the jolt of confirmation that would prove they'd finally settled at the bottom. 

 

It didn't take as long as he'd thought it would, but he couldn't be sure. Time was already a strange concept now; it was dark, muffled, and confined - his only constant was Cas’ fingers wrapped around his own, tethering him to a sense of calm. But there was a dull rocking motion, then a strange stillness, and Dean knew they were finally where he'd been dreading to go. 

 

He squeezed Cas’ hand and waited. 

  
  


***

  
  


Dean's last breath approached far too soon for his liking. It could have been minutes, hours, days; he didn't know, but it was too soon all the same. 

 

It was getting much harder to breathe. His chest was burning, recycled air churning to poison in his chest cavity. His head throbbed from lack of oxygen, and Michael rattled within his mind, growing stronger as he grew weaker. He clutched at Cas’ hand tightly now, panting helplessly as his chest heaved, throat raw from the exertion. 

 

Cas knew too, somehow, because he rubbed his thumb over Dean's hand and shushed him, trying to calm him. It was no use; Dean could feel his natural instincts kick in, demanding he panic. With his free hand, he reached up and clawed at his chest, eyes stinging with tears. Fuck, it was too hot, too confining, too  _ much.  _

 

“Dean, Dean, listen to me,” Cas soothed, voice rough from disuse, “I need you to calm down.” 

 

Dean wheezed, tendrils of fresh air barely soothing his aching lungs. “Calm down? I can't fucking  _ breathe,”  _ he gasped out. “Cas, I can't- I can't breathe!” 

 

Dean tugged on Cas’ hand, trying to pull him closer and shove him away all at once. He was gasping then, trying desperately to suck in any air that would bring him relief. There was no more; he'd used it up in that last second to explain what was happening to him. His heart galloped in his chest, racing and clenching painfully. It would stop any second now, he just knew it would, because that's what happened to people when they suffocate to death. 

 

Except, most people didn't have an archangel thrashing about in their skull. 

 

Dean tried to shout, tried to scream, maybe beg for his freedom, but he couldn't get any noise outside of his struggle for air. He was left there, trying to fight for breath, on the edge of cardiac arrest. And that is where he would stay for the rest of eternity. 

 

He became hysterical; there was no other word for it. Limbs lashing out, gulping desperately for any scrap of oxygen, he went absolutely insane - to the point he forgot that there was another occupant in his own hell with him. He was sharply reminded when Cas suddenly twisted to the side, cupping Dean's side with his whole body, one leg thrown over him, a hand reaching up to grab his face and tug it down. 

 

Lips covered his, and he'd be so conflicted by that any other time, but there was suddenly air - blissful, wonderful  _ air  _ \- pushing into his shrieking lungs. Dean sucked it in greedily, whimpering as he finally fucking breathed and found relief. Cas broke away for a moment, only to move right back and push more air into him, essentially giving him mouth-to-mouth. 

 

Dean took it thankfully, both hands coming up to grip Cas’ face and hold him there, a mindless gesture. He pulled back to slowly release his borrowed air, the pain slowly ebbing away. 

 

“It won't last long,” Cas warned him softly. “I can breathe for you, Dean, but it will require this method. In the moment, I assumed you'd prefer it, but I should have asked. I'm sorry for-” 

 

“Fuck, don't be sorry,” Dean muttered, blinking rapidly in the darkness. “You just saved my fucking life, Cas. Are you  _ seriously  _ asking me if I'd rather spend forever suffocating than locking lips with you instead, right now?” 

 

Cas dipped his head in again, lips covering Dean's and spreading them, pushing air into his lungs yet again. “It was a violation,” he murmured when he pulled back, letting Dean exhale. 

 

Dean huffed a laugh. “Dude, if you're literally breathing for me, it's not a violation. Full steam ahead; I'm not gonna stop you.” 

 

“I'm glad you'll allow me to ease your pain,” Cas said seriously, sounding relieved. 

 

“How's that work anyway?” Dean asked, coughing as his lungs began to pinch again. 

 

Cas offered him more air before answering. “My grace will not allow me to suffocate. My lungs refill with air, no matter the oxygen around us. I have no need to breathe, but it is a necessity for my vessel, so my grace provides it automatically.” 

 

“And you're cool with, what, giving me CPR for the rest of ever?” Dean asked with faint amusement. 

 

“It's hardly the worst thing I've ever had to do,” Cas replied, and it sounded as if he was smiling. 

 

Dean reached out and grabbed Cas’ hand, squeezing it in thanks. When Cas leaned over and gifted him with air again, Dean closed his eyes and leaned into it, taking it in, but as Cas moved to pull away, Dean shifted so he could press his lips to Cas’ cheeks for a chaste kiss there. 

 

“Thank you.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Dean supposed, as far as hell went, this wasn't the absolute worst he'd ever experienced. 

 

They fell into a routine of sorts. 

 

Cas would bestow the gift of breathing upon Dean, keeping him in steady supply, and it really wasn't as weird as Dean's brain thought it should be. He never actually expected to have his and Cas’ lips meet for  _ any  _ reason, but he wasn't idiotic enough to begrudge himself air because of that. It was always a clinical touch - lips cupping each other, no tongue, just a simple exchange. There wasn't really anything significant about it, so Dean didn't dwell on it. 

 

With Cas breathing for him, he had no reason not to talk. And he was so  _ bored  _ that he found himself talking nearly every waking moment. The moments he wasn't awake, Cas would breathe for him while he slept. The first time he'd woken to Cas’ lips covering his own, he'd been  _ very  _ confused, but it was something of a pattern now. 

 

Cas told him every time that Sam prayed, even waking him up from his sleep to update him. As far as Sam's prayers were concerned, he and Cas were on a really nice honeymoon, cuddled up somewhere, kissing and bonding. The crazy thing about that was… Sam wasn't actually too far off with his teasing. It pained Dean endlessly to know that Sam would never actually know just how right he was. 

 

Also according to Sam's prayers, everything was mostly okay. Cas said he could detect grief in his tone, but there were no lies. Sam was managing the hunting network, disbanding Michael's monsters, and he'd even wrangled Rowena in to help. He kept Baby in good use, even let Jack drive her occasionally. He kept on going, as Dean had hoped he would, but Cas would admit that Sam's heartbreak read loud and clear in each of his updates. 

 

Jack, however, was a different story. 

 

Dean had left a note to explain everything, because the kid definitely deserved that. Saying goodbye to a kid that was basically his own was too devastating to even imagine, so he selfishly hadn't. And Cas hadn't been able to at all, his whim to stay with Dean a thing bred of an impulse. 

 

Jack prayed,  _ a lot.  _

 

Most of it was anger, just harsh things directed towards them both that was bad enough to make Cas press his face into Dean's shoulder and sigh sadly over and over. Cas would tell him, word for word, voice cracking, all the ways Jack would berate them for leaving him. And when there wasn't anger, there was something much worse; grief. 

 

There were others too; Mary prayed about as often as Sam did, and the girls would send a prayer up every now and again to let them know they were missed. In a lot of ways, it was just as hard to hear from everyone than it was when they were quiet. 

 

Outside of the prayers, it was just them. 

 

The others would get caught up in what they were doing during the days, and Cas and Dean would be left to their own devices. More often than not, Dean would be jabbering Cas’ ear off in between the regular exchange of oxygen. 

 

They were about two seconds from having a full-on argument about whether a malaphor was actually a word or not when Cas got an update. Dean always knew when he was getting prayed to because he'd squeeze Dean's hand in his own twice in quick succession. And yes, they'd been in this box for some inscrutable amount of time and they hadn't let each other's hands go, but fuck, it got really fucking lonely in the pitch black and Cas’ touch made him forget that,  _ sue him.  _

 

Cas chuckled and pressed a smile against Dean's lips, breathing for him. He pulled back and announced, “Sam thinks we are walking along the beach, hand in hand, being - as he put it - really disgustingly cute.” 

 

“Shit, we probably are,” Dean snorted, nudging Cas’ shoulder with his own. “Do you know how many girls I could pull if we were a thing?” 

 

“None, I'd hope, considering our hypothetical loyalty to each other,” Cas told him seriously. 

 

“No threesomes?” 

 

“I wouldn't really be interested.” 

 

Dean paused to consider this while Cas tilted his chin and gave him air again. “That's fair,” he allowed, bumping his nose against Cas’ playfully. “You must be a real catch if I'm chaining myself to you forever.” 

 

“The same could be said in return.” 

 

“Did Sam have anything else to say?” 

 

“No, he's trying to figure out how to mentally project an image of what he'd described.” 

 

“Can he do that?” 

 

“No,” Cas hummed, amused. 

 

Dean chuckled faintly, meeting Cas halfway as their lips met briefly. “That's a nice picture though, don't you think? Our toes in the sand, Sam sipping one of his fruity drinks with the umbrellas, Jack looking for seashells. Man, what I wouldn't give to go on vacation for real.” 

 

“You haven't ever been on vacation?” 

 

“No, not really.” 

 

Cas frowned into his mouth this time. “Not even when you were younger?” 

 

“Nah, we were too young before our mom died. She used to keep a jar that they put spare change in, and it was labelled  _ vacay,  _ but it burned when she did. After, dad never really did that kind of stuff, you know? Always too busy with yellow eyes,” Dean explained, lips twisting as he thought it over. “Bobby sort of took us on a trip when we were younger though. He took us to a baseball game. Sam was really young, but he loved it.” 

 

“Did you?” Cas asked curiously. 

 

Dean huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I think I loved it a bit too much. Dad actually banned me from talking about baseball for a while after that.” 

 

“You didn't play?” 

 

“Nah, I was more of a wrestler.” 

 

Dean couldn't see Cas, but he sounded surprised when he murmured, “Oh?”

 

“Yeah, I mean,” Dean paused, letting Cas fill his tight lungs again, “I was pretty good at it, so I got into it whenever we stayed at a school long enough. I got an award for it, once. Probably coulda went to college for it too, if I'd wanted to.” 

 

“I never knew that about you,” Cas admitted, sounding displeased by that. 

 

“Not many do, don't worry.” 

 

“Are you ashamed?” 

 

“Why would I be ashamed of that?” Dean muttered, wrinkling his nose. He smoothed his face as their lips connected again. 

 

“I'm not sure,” Cas said when he moved back. “You humans are ashamed of the strangest things.” 

 

“Like what?” 

 

“Gender roles, sexuality, dislikes, likes, favoritism, sexual activity, income, state of dress...” 

 

Dean shut him up by leaning forward and stealing a breath of air. “Yeah, yeah, I hear ya,” he muttered, knocking their chins together as he tugged away and rolled his eyes. “To be fair, that's the kinda shit you're conditioned to be ashamed of.” 

 

“But  _ why?”  _

 

“I mean, there's certain expectations people have. Most of it is bullshit, but that's society for you.” 

 

Cas tutted softly. “And what are you ashamed of?” 

 

“Me? Woah buddy, that's a loaded question. I am ashamed of a lot of shit.” 

 

“You are? Really? But you saved the world.” 

 

“Are we talking, like, big shit or…” 

 

“The societal expectations.” 

 

Dean considered the question while Cas fed him more air. “I guess it depends? No one wants to be judged, you know? So, say I'm in a really fancy place, but I'm dressed like I usually am, right? I'm pretty much immediately reminded what I look like, what I do, and it's stupid, but I am ashamed by it for a moment. It's less to do with how I see myself and more to do with how others see me.” 

 

“So, if it's just you - no expectations, no judgements, no setting - what's left?” Cas asked softly. 

 

“God, I don't even know? I've never been in a world where I didn't have something to hide,” Dean admitted, chewing his lip. 

 

Cas pressed more air into his mouth, then very seriously declared, “You are now.” 

 

Dean blinked. “What, you mean…  _ here?”  _

 

“It's rather dark, isn't it? I certainly won't judge you, or expect anything, so what's to hide?” 

 

“I dunno, Cas. I'm just… me, I guess. There are things that I'm not ashamed of here, you're right, but that doesn't have anything to do with me.” 

 

“Like what?” Cas questioned sharply. 

 

Dean was immediately wary. “Okay, don't- don't take this the wrong way, but the, uh, breathing for me thing. It's totally fine, please don't stop. But out there? It'd be kissing, and that's not something okay for a lot of people.” 

 

Cas huffed. “Why?” 

 

“Because your dude-shaped, and I'm a dude. For some people, that's fucked up.” 

 

“But for you?” 

 

“Live and let live, I say. Love is love, right? It's not my, um, shtick, but whatever,” Dean muttered awkwardly, dipping in and out of the air exchange as quickly as he could manage. 

 

Cas clicked his tongue. “Yet, in here, you're just fine with it. In fact, it brings you comfort.” 

 

“You're  _ literally  _ breathing for me.” 

 

“Yes, but outside of that, you enjoy it.” 

 

Dean coughed. “Well, like I said, that doesn't have anything to do with me.” 

 

“Doesn't it?” Cas whispered.

 

The next time Cas breathed refreshing air into his lungs, he lingered for a beat before pulling away, and Dean made no move to snatch back, just letting the contact last, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what the fuck it meant. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“I spy with my little eye something… black.” 

 

Cas sighed. “Everything is black; this is pointless.” 

 

“Dude, I am so bored. I miss Baby. I'd probably murder for a beer and burger right now. How are you not going nuts in here?” 

 

“I have spent time simply observing the aging process of bamboo, from splinters to forests, without even batting an eye. I rarely get bored.” 

 

Dean sighed heavily and turned his head when Cas’ nose nudged his jaw. Their lips met again, practically waving in passing at this point. Cas hadn't ever lingered after that first time, and Dean had no intentions of examining how he felt about it. He wasn't  _ that  _ bored, thank-you-very-much. 

 

“Tell me an awesome story,” Dean demanded when they parted. “I know you've got an arsenal full of stories. You're an angel.” 

 

Cas drew their conjoined hands to his chest, raising his free hand to fiddle with their intertwined fingers mindlessly. “What makes a story awesome, Dean?” 

 

Jesus, Dean could actually  _ hear  _ the quotation marks. And fuck, they made him grin. “Well,” he started, clearing his throat, “an awesome story has pretty much all the key elements. Love, action, comedy, horror; you know, that stuff.” 

 

“Fine,” Cas murmured decidedly. “There was an angel - a soldier, if you will - who was assigned a very important mission.” 

 

Dean was surprised Cas was actually humoring him, but a knot of excitement unfurled in his chest, so he wiggled on his side. He was pretty much pressed up against Cas body, but there wasn't a whole lot of room for embarrassment in the coffin, so he just threw his leg over Cas’ and went with it. Cas dipped down to give him more air, humming in approval at the new angle. 

 

“Go on,” Dean pressed. 

 

“Right. So, the angel prepares his garrison to go and retrieve the very important subject. He's under the impression that he will be stopping a horrible, unplanned tragedy from occurring.”

 

“I hear a “but” coming along.” 

 

“Indeed,” Cas agreed solemnly. “The angel and his garrison started their journey, one so horrible and demanding that many of the garrison were killed along the way. It took many years to reach the subject, but eventually, the angel did it.” 

 

“Who was the subject?” 

 

“I'll get to that. So, the angel took the subject and returned him back home. This, apparently, was very confusing for the subject and those involved with him, because everyone knew he was supposed to be banished from his home.” 

 

“Damn, what'd the guy do?” Dean muttered, wrinkling his nose. 

 

Cas huffed a small laugh, tilting his head to press a quick push of air into his lungs. “The subject was in exile for bargaining with his own banishment for the lives of his people, specifically his brother.” 

 

Dean immediately liked the guy. “That's fucked up. He was just trying to help his family.” 

 

“Anyway, the subject was returned home. The angel attempted to contact him, because heaven had many plans for him, but there was a bungled connection.” 

 

“The angel didn't have a vessel, did he?” 

 

“Precisely. So, the angel went out and found a vessel. Again, the angel sought out the subject, but the subject was rather wary of the angel. He attacked him, to no avail. The angel did not understand why, especially after he had returned him home. It then became clear to the angel that the subject believed his exile was earned.” 

 

“This sounds vaguely familiar. Is this in the bible?” 

 

Cas snorted, making Dean blink. “No, Dean, this is not in the bible. It's your story - our story.” 

 

Dean's mouth dropped open for a moment, leaving space for Cas to breathe for him again. When he pulled away, Dean tapped his forehead against Cas’ nose a bit forcefully. 

 

“Dude! I said an awesome story. You can't just tell our story to me.” 

 

“Why not? It has horror, action, comedy, and love.” 

 

Dean huffed, rolling his eyes. “You're so lazy. All the stories you could tell me, and  _ that's  _ what you decide to go with.” 

 

“It's my favorite story,” Cas insisted seriously. 

 

“Oh yeah? How does it end?” 

 

“Peacefully.” 

 

“Does the bad guy get ganked?” 

 

“Most definitely.” 

 

“Does the guy get the girl?” Dean asked, lips twitching in amusement. 

 

Cas breathes for him again. “No, but the angel and the subject go on a lovely honeymoon.” 

 

Dean sighed fondly, yawn making all his limbs tremble. He reflexively shuffled closer to Cas, pillowing his cheek on his shoulder, tilting his head back so his mouth would be accessible for air exchange. “Greatest love story ever told,” he mumbled, eyelids drooping. 

 

“That it is,” Cas agreed in amusement. 

 

Just before he dropped off, Dean could have sworn that lips brushed across his forehead. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The worst part was darkness. 

 

Cas’ presence fixed many things, but it could not fix that. Dean honestly couldn't imagine getting through this without Cas. He provided a link to the family he missed, and yeah, it was bittersweet, but to not have it at all seemed worse. He also kept Dean from insanity, loneliness, and indescribable agony. Cas, quite literally, was a gift from God. 

 

But Dean missed seeing him, weird as that sounded. He missed seeing many things, but he had Cas right next to him and couldn't even focus on the blue eyes he was embarrassingly fond of. He slowly started forgetting what things looked like besides the blotted out abyss around him, but he clung to the mental image of those soft, blue eyes. He wondered, as time went on, if he spent enough time in the dark, would he go blind? 

 

Not that it mattered; Dean was never leaving this coffin ever again. 

 

The inevitable fate settled around them in an iron, enochian-engraved cage was enough to make Dean feel on the edge of vomiting at the best of times. He knew he wasn't going to get out, wasn't ever going to see the light of day again. But he desperately wished he could at least see inside the coffin, if only to see Cas smile at him, roll those blue eyes, and  _ laugh.  _

 

The cherry on top of the bleak-pie-of-hell was that prayers started slowing down. Sam had mentioned rising problems and being busier, while Jack just went radio silent. Mary prayed on a schedule more like the girls now, just throwing a random  _ we miss you  _ whenever the mood striked. Dean couldn't help but be disappointed by that, and he could tell Cas was as well, but they managed it. 

 

As they spent more time together, bickering and talking, breathing and bonding, Dean started to wonder what exactly he'd do without Cas  _ at all.  _ It wasn't something he wanted to find out, but the layer underneath - the fact that he always wanted Cas at his side, no matter what - was very telling. 

 

With nothing else to do, Dean began to  _ dwell.  _

  
  


* * *

  
  


Okay, so this wasn't exactly what he'd planned. 

 

Cas had woken him by breathing for him plenty of times; it  _ really  _ wasn't that unusual. What was unusual was Dean's reaction to it.

 

Things between them weren't different, per se; they were still them - best friends that should've existed worlds apart but found a home within each other instead.  _ But  _ things had shifted. Between Cas’ curious nudging about the not-kissing and Dean's sudden dwelling status, they… rearranged. 

 

Dean would describe it much the same way he did in Purgatory. They were both fighting the same war, both amidst the same dredges, both finding comfort within each other. They were in this together, and it was so easy to fall into something a bit  _ more  _ than usual. They'd always had a bond, something bright and unbreakable, but they'd never thought to try and strengthen it - honestly, it hadn't exactly needed it, but here they were, somehow  _ closer.  _

 

Touching was more normal than not touching was; Dean often fell asleep tangled up with Cas, their limbs intertwined in some way. There honestly was no point in shuffling away, so Dean rarely extracted himself from Cas. He'd gotten so comfortable with Cas’ lips on his that he started seeking out “air” when he didn't particularly need it - being greedy, he'd called it when his brain had arched an eyebrow at him. Their hands never broke apart, not for anything, and with one squeeze, they could have a conversation, could stop a nightmare, could point out their needs without ever opening their mouths. Dean grew to love Cas talking to him, letting it lull him to sleep, smiling when it woke him up. 

 

So, yeah, they were…  _ more,  _ but Dean hadn't actually figured out what that meant yet. 

 

His sleep-befuddled mind apparently had though, because when he woke up to Cas giving him a great big breath, he'd reacted without thought. All the air Cas had just given him escaped him in a groan, and he reached up to curl fingers in Cas’ hair and kiss him properly for the very first time. 

 

And it wasn't about air at all. 

 

While it was amazing in all the ways that should have worried Dean, it didn't actually help his suffocating situation. Not even thirty seconds into the kiss, and he was fully panting, trying to catch his breath. Dean's body had made up his mind rather quickly about what he wanted to do with Cas, but the lack of oxygen very firmly told him that would not be happening…  _ ever.  _

 

So. 

 

Dean was a bit annoyed about that - could he never get off again? - but he tried to take it in stride. He kissed Cas in a series of pecks to get his point across, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and nipping it almost playfully. Cas responding by pressing in, giving him a deep breath, and kissing him much more filthily than an angel should. 

 

Yeah, yeah, that was… great, actually. 

 

Cas abruptly yanked away, and that was not so great, but his hand squeezed Dean's twice quickly, telling him someone prayed. 

 

“Sam says that something big has come up, that he will be busy for awhile. He wishes us well and says we should go surfing,” Cas told him, voice rough in the sexiest way possible, and that was  _ so _ not fair. 

 

Dean huffed. “Yeah, well, there's a lot I want to do that I can't right now. Namely, something a bit more heated with you. But I can't fucking breathe!” 

 

“You seem to enjoy mildly heated kisses?” 

 

“Yes, but for eternity? My dick would bite us both.” 

 

Cas released a shocked laugh, like he couldn't believe that those words just left Dean's mouth and he thought they were funny. “We'll… work something out, Dean, I'm sure.” 

 

“True,” Dean agreed softly. “We're kinda here forever, so we can adapt. I should probably tell you, Cas; I don't think I'd want to be stuck in a coffin at the bottom of the ocean with anyone but you.” 

 

Lips brushed Dean's knuckles on the hand that was intertwined with Cas’ own. 

 

“I have to agree.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The thing about forever was that it suggested a never-ending infinity. When Dean thought of forever in the coffin, he pictured endless eons of time until the world officially met its demise. He did not, however, picture that forever ending so abruptly. 

 

Dean was pretty sure the world hadn't ended since the last time Sam prayed, and he was fairly certain that God hadn't decided to just pluck them up from where they were. So, he had no idea what the fuck was going on when their prison jostled them without warning. One moment, they were still as ever, the next, they were being yanked around. 

 

Somehow, in reverse, they were sailing through the air. Instead of plummeting, it felt as if someone had tied him to a bungeecord and he was finally sailing back up from where he fell. 

 

“Cas, what the fuck?” Dean barked, jolting as they landed with a loud thud. 

 

“I don't-” 

 

The lid swung open without warning, and Dean let out a string of curses as he shielded his eyes. He was nearly sure that an angel was burning his eyes out, because the light outside the coffin hurt like a bitch. But there was air entering his lungs - his very  _ own  _ air - at a refreshing rate, and Dean couldn't give a fuck less about his eyes. 

 

“Dean? Dean!” 

 

Not an angel. Sam.  _ Sammy.  _

 

Arms gripped him under the armpits and forcefully yanked him up, nearly yanking his arm out of socket as he kept a tight grip on Cas. He was gathered up into an enthusiastic hug, long hair brushing his cheek, and he still squinted as his eyes slowly adjusted. Cas slowly got up from the coffin, still holding Dean's hand, seemingly wary. 

 

“Sam, what's going on, what's-” 

 

“Cas!” 

 

Almost as abruptly as he'd been yanked into a hug, he was dropped. Sam rushed Cas, very nearly sending them all back into the coffin, but Cas went solid and caught him, staring wide-eyed over Sam's shoulder. Dean shrugged and squeezed his hand. 

 

Cas very carefully pushed Sam back, flicking his gaze over him. “Why have you brought us back? What's wrong?” 

 

Sam stepped back, beaming. “Nothing!” he chirped excitedly. “Well, not nothing, but you guys can come back now.” 

 

“What?” Dean asked. 

 

“You rewrote your book again, Dean! I don't know how, but there are books where you don't let Michael out. Billie came and told me, said something about letting the angel keep breathing for you, I dunno, but you're free!” Sam exclaimed excitedly.

 

“What?” Cas echoed faintly. 

 

Sam bobbed his head, very nearly bouncing in his spot. “Yeah, I don't know why we didn't think of it before. I mean, your books rewrote themselves once, right; why couldn't they do it again? I guess you  _ did  _ have to go in the box for a few months, but it didn't have to be forever.” 

 

Dean blinked. “Months?” 

 

“How long have we been… away?” Cas murmured carefully, voice trailing. 

 

“About three and a half months,” Sam replied, looking away with a grimace. “It wasn't easy. Did you get my prayers? I prayed all the time” 

 

Cas squeezed Dean's hand again. “Yes, Sam, we got them.” 

 

“Well, everything can go back to normal! I mean, there's a lot of shit to handle, but it can wait while you guys recuperate.” He flicked his gaze down to their joined hands. “Time to come home from the honeymoon, guys,” he teased playfully. 

 

Dean suddenly,  _ stupidly  _ wanted to crawl right back in that box. He should've been ecstatic to be free, but he already felt off-kilter without Cas’ lips on his. Cas still holding his hand was one of the only things that was keeping him from having a panic attack. 

 

There was something so utterly wild about standing outside the box, something freeing and terrifying all at once. Dean knew the coffin, knew what he had to do in the coffin, but he was suddenly out of it and reminded  _ exactly  _ just how different the world was outside of it. He wondered, a bit deliriously, if things were going to be changed now, if he and Cas weren't supposed to touch, to kiss, to hold onto each other like they were all they would ever have. 

 

Dean had been  _ sure  _ of his fate, of what he would have to face. Years, decades of Cas at his side, breathing for him, no Sam, no Jack, no mom. He'd accepted that, thankful to have Cas in every single way; in the box, Dean got to love Cas, got to be  _ in love  _ with him. Did he get to do that outside of it? 

 

It was hard to maneuver, and Cas was gripping his hand tight, head tilted down, eyes wide. It was strange not to be encased in darkness, not to be pressed up against one another, not to be alone and stripped bare to who they were without the world's demanding eyes on them. It was many things, but Dean would be damned if he let it be an ending. 

 

Sam looked so pleased, so relieved, and Dean wanted to wrap him up and hug him. He wanted to talk to him, catch up, tell him everything. He missed Sam so much that it hurt like a punch to the chest, and seeing him so happy made his chest ache in the best way. For that, Dean would toss the comfort and quiet of the box right into a fire. 

 

But he wasn't going to lie about what the damned thing taught him. “We're not married, Sam,” he announced, gripping Cas’ hand tight when he tried to immediately tug it away. “I haven't even gotten to dating him yet, give me time, okay?” 

 

Blue eyes snapped up to land on him, bright and intense - oh, how he missed them too. Dean tugged on Cas, urging him to step out of the coffin, pulling him close like they were about to do the waltz. Cas blinked at him, their noses brushing, and Dean leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

 

“It will be strange not to breathe for you anymore,” Cas admitted sheepishly.

 

Dean smiled at him. “Didn't you hear what Billie told Sam? You're the reason we're free, Cas. When Michael drowns me, you'll just breathe for me.” 

 

Sounding amused, Sam announced, “There's a lot of years in between, but sometimes, I think I still have my psychic powers.” 

 

“Or maybe we're obvious,” Cas suggested. 

 

“That too,” Sam agreed, snorting. 

 

“So, you said  _ not nothing _ when I asked what was wrong? What's going on?” Dean asked, tugging Cas into his side, pressing a needless kiss to his lips because of the habit. 

 

Sam's pleasure seemed to break apart. “Lucifer,” he said flatly, eyes narrowed. “He's back.” 

 

Cas and Dean shared a look. Not this shit again. 

 

Dean sighed. “After we fix this,  _ yet again,  _ we're all gonna go on a fucking vacation.” 

 

“Just not the ocean,” Cas quipped, lips curling up. 

 

“Oh, anywhere is fine,” Dean said, looking at Cas with a shit-eating grin, “long as I'm with you.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I do so hope you enjoyed! Don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and leave a comment; I do so love them! Have a marvelous day! 
> 
> Ta!


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